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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338237">Apertivo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes'>ElectraRhodes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twelvetide Drabbles 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Ekphrastic, Frederick is still a bit of a shit, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:13:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28338237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick meets Mason for the first time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Twelvetide Drabbles 2020 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071968</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Twelvetide Drabbles 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Apertivo</h2></a>
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    <p>Above the bed was a copy of Blake’s painting ‘The Ancient of Days’. Frederick had seen it on some poster. A gallery trying to entice people with a scarlet vision of the end of all things. Or the maker of all things. One of those. Some portentous pompous shit.</p><p>He re-focused on the ruin laid on the bed, stifling a small moue of distaste. He wasn’t exactly a sight for sore eyes either, and Mason Verger, even in this state, looked like he’d be good for a reasonable fee.</p><p>He flicked his eyes back up to the painting. The divine architect. Hannibal would lap this shit right up. And Frederick would make sure he did.</p><p>He managed a smile even he knew was oily.</p>
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